


whom the angels named

by TrekFaerie



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Coming of Age, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Non-Graphic Child Abuse, Self-cest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-27 04:44:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrekFaerie/pseuds/TrekFaerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young boy hears a voice in the darkness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	whom the angels named

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes, I find fics I'd completely forgotten about in the bowels of google drive. And then I post them here!

He first heard her voice when he was around thirteen years old. He was in the old church, dressed in the blood-soaked suit he had outgrown years ago, slumped against the locked door. His throat was sore from screaming and his eyes were red from crying, his face marred with scratches and pecks. He was ready to sob himself to sleep once more when he heard her.

_Sweet child, precious child... Whatever do you have to fear?_

It was like a whisper, like wind whistling through the cornfields, but it wasn’t... There wasn’t anybody around him: Granny had gone in hours ago, and the only things in the church besides him were a few stray crows and bats. And those couldn’t talk. Anyway, the whispering kinda sounded... It was a bit like...

The whispering sounded like it was in his head.

“U-Um... Who’s there?” he whispered back, half to save his voice and half to protect him from Granny’s wrath, should the old woman decide to come out and make sure he’s still in there.

_I’m whatever you wish to call me, dearest one._

“... Are you an angel?” Granny didn’t talk about angels much, except to tell him how much they hated little sinners like him, and how they would bring down God’s wrath upon him. But, he had read the Bible-- without her knowing, of course, she would have whipped him for daring to steal her things-- 

_If you wish me to be your angel, I will be your angel. You have always been mine, sweet Jonathan._

He felt flustered-- _the angel knew his name!_ \-- and hoped she couldn’t see him, that she was too far away in Heaven to see the blush on his face. “You said... You said, what have I got to fear? What did you mean, angel?”

_You’ve grown so strong these last few years, my angel. Don’t you wonder why your grandmother still does this; why she still locks you in here, even when you’re not being punished? It’s because she fears you. You_ scare _her, Jonathan._

“... I do?” That was somewhat harder to grasp than an angel speaking to him inside his head.

_You do. You don’t need to listen to her anymore, you know. You’re so much braver and smarter than she’ll ever be. You don’t need to get hurt by her anymore, either. In fact, you could even hurt her..._

He didn’t hear much from the angel after that. Though, he did hear her whispering encouragements in his ear when he finally ended Granny’s life.

He first saw her face during finals week. It was nearing 2AM, and he was still holed up in his dorm room-- a single, of course, he rated one with such a heavy course load-- staring down with bleary eyes at the neurochemistry textbook in front of him. He was reaching the point where even his own notes seemed to be written in a foreign language, but... He only had a few hours until his exam, and he had not yet mastered every concept to his own standards. Still, a few hours sleep, who could it hurt...

_You’re doing so well, my love._

His first reaction was to spin around and slap at the hand that had grasped his shoulder-- Wait. How could someone have done that? His door was locked, the entire dorm too caught up with sleeping or their own studying to waste time bother him besides... And yet, there was a person in his room, standing in front of him with a puzzled expression on its face. At least, he assumed it was a puzzled expression. And a face. And a person.

It looked like the scarecrows he had so identified with as a youth, dressed in rags and stuffed with straw... But, there were limbs in those rags as well as straw, thin and white as bleached bone. He couldn’t see the face; it was made of burlap, though strangely expressive for being made of cloth. It seemed to smile at him, nearly beatific.

_Did I frighten you, dearest?_

He ruffled slightly, frowning. “I’m not afraid of anything!” It was then that he recognized it-- not the figure, for he had never seen it before except in dreams and nightmares long forgotten, but... the voice... could it be... “... Angel?”

_If that is what you wish to call me still._

He considered it for a moment. “... No, I don’t think I will. You are clearly no angel.”

She laughed, like fallen leaves being crushed underfoot. _I’m not? Have you seen so many angels that you can make that judgement?_

“Enough to know you’re not one.” He cocked his head to the side in though, and she mirrored him. Interesting. “You’re clearly a scarecrow.”

_I’m whatever you want me to be. I’m here for you._

“If you really want to be ‘here for me,’ why don’t you study this so I can go sleep?” He was about to laugh at his own impossible joke... When, suddenly, the Scarecrow pushed past him-- there was no way, no way he could feel her skin on his arm, feel the scratch of burlap and hay, there was no way she was actually real and not just some sort of insomnia-fueled hallucination-- and made to pick up his textbook. “... No, wait, I wasn’t being serious! Please, let me get back to studying, I really need to pass this class--”

_Jonathan._ The hand on his face was as warm as any other human contact he had ever had-- as rare as that was-- and her eyes, despite being little more than black holes in the mask, showed more concern, empathy, and love than he had ever seen from any real human being. _Jonathan, my sweet boy, let me help you. Whatever you know, I know; whatever I know, you know. We are one being made separate made one again, my love. Let me help you._

She felt real enough, leading him to his bed. Could a hallucination tuck one in at night? He’d ask someone, if he wasn’t sure it would just make his peers even more certain that he was insane. _Sleep, dearest Jonathan. We need this knowledge to fulfill our destiny, yes, but you need to live most of all. Sleep._ She was very persuasive, he’d give her that.

He passed the course with ease. All his professors wondered how he did it. All his classmates swore that he had cheated. Somehow.

From then on, they were rarely apart, Jonathan and his Scarecrow, Scarecrow and her Jonathan. When they eventually turned to crime to continue their research, he began to dress like her, to give her the true corporal body she had always been denied outside of his mind. When they were arrested and thrown into Arkham, they went together... Until the doctors decided that they were best apart.

His cell was always so quiet. The Joker laughed, Two-Face yelled, Harley Quinn chattered, other inmates moaned and groaned and screamed... But Crane heard nothing but silence.

_Jonathan?_

She sat on the foot of his bed, looking smaller and weaker than he had last seen her... Her hand in its bandages extended towards him, but he made no move from his normal catatonic state. _Jonathan, it’s been so long, they keep making me go away, Jonathan... Jonathan, I would never abandon you, not my sweet child, not my one love... Jonathan, my love, please answer me. Tell me they have not taken you, too..._

For a second, his eyes flickered towards her.

And then he opened his mouth.

Under his tongue were seven little pills in a neat little pile.

They smiled twin smiles and he took her hand in his, bone against bone. The asylum screeched around them... but all they could hear was each other.


End file.
